


Tradition

by durgasdragon



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 11:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/148847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/durgasdragon/pseuds/durgasdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UselessXRayVision](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=UselessXRayVision).



> Takes place after the fifth book. Filled with angst.

  
  
**Tradition**   
  


_Disclaimer: This is a purely fan-made piece that is using the world and characters from J. K. Rowling’s_ Harry Potter _and is made entirely for enjoyment. No financial gain has been made in the making of this piece_

 _Summary: Remus remembers_

 _Author’s Note: Written for UselessXRayVision. Possible out-of characterness, lotsa angst, and more angst. Post_ Order of Phoenix __

 _Constructive Criticism is always welcomed_

 _Published: 25 December 2008_

 _Rating: T_

Remus carefully shut his door and turned the key. If he laid low for a bit, Molly—well-meaning as she was—would forget about him in the hustle and bustle of the preparations for when her children came home for the holidays.

And alone is what he wanted to be right now.

Methodically, he pulled all the curtains down over the closed blinds. Each window had a particularly nasty curse keyed into the locks, so if someone tried to bother him, they would be faced with some rather uncomfortable and unsightly…‘growth’. The lock in the door was given a similar treatment. The heavy bed frame was levitated and situated in front of the door and he shut off the radiator. The walls, floor, and ceiling were encased in numerous silencing spells. Everything in the room was diligently placed in drawers and the closet until the only thing left in the middle of the room was an old oaken table, a chair, and a few cardboard boxes.

He made sure that his wand and his books were secure before carefully sitting down at the table.

He hadn’t revisited this tradition in two years; it had been a while since he had felt the need to do it. Still, in light of the year’s events and the return of the holiday season, he knew it was going to be necessary.

Reaching down, he pulled a box towards himself. Gently—almost tenderly—he removed a heavy glass tumbler and a heavy bottle. Slowly, he worked the bottle open and poured the strong liquid into his glass.

Remus studied the glass for a moment. Then he raised it up in a mock salute. “To you,” he said quietly before tossing it back quickly.

The alcohol hit him harshly and he coughed violently. He’d forgotten how much this stuff _burned_. Already, he knew his liver was shrieking in agony. A few more glasses and his liver would be so overworked in trying to get rid of the toxins that he wouldn’t be able to feel it anymore.

He poured another glass, trying to keep all the liquid in the tumbler. It wouldn’t matter later, he knew, once his coordination was gone. There would be no finish on the table by the time the night was over and there would be new patches on the wall from where the alcohol had eaten the paint.

Around the time he got half-way through the first bottle, the memories started to come back.

Terrible, bright, horrible reminders, they came. Dancing and mocking him in their tarnished innocence and pain, they clamoured to make him remember everything.

He remembered snow the most.

Sirius had always loved the snow. Its cold whiteness was the exact opposite of his hot-headed darkness, but they complimented each other well. Few things made the roguish boy happier than freshly fallen snow. He’d grab his mittens, hat, and Remus, and race outside to romp—both as a human and as Padfoot—and then to lay on his back and watch it coat the world in beauty.

Snow would always make Remus think of Sirius.

By the end of the second bottle, he could almost hear Sirius’s voice.

 _Don’t be a lump, Moony! Come ON! Put that book AWAY! It’s snowing!_

 _If you come, I’ll make it…_ worth _your while…_

 _Come, Moony…come with me, Remus…_

 _REMUS…!_

Remus shuddered painfully as the memories swamped him. Recollections of playing in the snow, chasing Sirius, catching him and tumbling into the snow…finding new ways to tie those wandering hands and exploring different ways to warm up. Remembering reacquainting himself with Sirius’s body, the joy of knowing that he was innocent and he was still Remus’s.

Something torn between a sob and a howl ripped itself from Remus’s throat, but the memories—along with the alcohol—kept coming.

He hated remembering, but every December, he made himself remember Sirius in all of his beautifully flawed glory. He had started when Sirius was first imprisoned and he was first faced with the holidays without anyone left. The second year was because he still couldn’t move on. After the fifth time, he had finally acknowledged his tradition and started to plan his month around it.

Then Sirius had come back and it wasn’t necessary any more. He could remember in peace.

But now…now, not even the alcohol was dimming his pain. He was too raw and the memories came too fast for him to stop. Everything that he wouldn’t recognise in his daily life came flying at him and he couldn’t duck. Wouldn’t let himself duck.

It was only then—in those moments when the alcohol was slowly poisoning him—that he could grieve for what was forever out of his reach.

  
_x Fin x_   



End file.
